Sixty-One Nails Part 3

She wore a wool coat with a tweedy texture to it which looked well worn, but not worn out. At her neck was a paisley patterned silk scarf that was wrapped inside her coat. Her hands clasped the cardboard cup. They had the soft texture of liver spots and freckles that you a.s.sociate with older ladies with fair skin. Her eyes were clear and blue-grey, and her hair was grey in a short but elegantly soft style. She watched me, removing the lid from her coffee and holding the cup underneath her chin, allowing the steam to rise around her face.

"If you knew somehow that you only had a single day left to live," she asked me then, "what would you do with that day?"

"What? A single day?"

"One only," she nodded.

"I'd spend it with my daughter doing all the things you should do with your children before you die: wild rides on the fairground, eat too much ice cream, paddle on the seash.o.r.e..."

"What if you could not be with your daughter? What then?"

"I don't know. Hmm. Maybe just carry on and have a normal day."

"Just carry on? Is there no one else you would spend your last day with?"

"You needn't look like that. I have responsibilities. My job is important, and not just to me. My team rely on me. That's why I have to go to work."

"You are failing to understand me. If you go back to your job, your life expectancy can be measured in hours. More importantly, what are you going to do there?"

"What I always do: manage my team, work on my projects-"

She burst out laughing. "Oh, Rabbit, you are precious." "What's wrong with that? It's my life!"

"It was your life." She considered me for moment. "I need to show you something, but I need to use the facilities first." She pushed her chair back and stood. "I will be back in a few moments."

"Will I be safe here, all by myself?" I was suddenly conscious of how exposed I was, sat at the edge of the open square.

"That depends. If this is a trick of some kind then you'll be as safe as ever you were. If this is real then no, you're never going to be safe again. Get used to it."

Two.

She turned and walked away across the pavement, slipping her hands into her pockets as she walked up the steps into the coffee shop, leaving me alone at the edge of Trafalgar Square.

I looked around nervously. People walked across the square as they always did in the rarer moments when we were blessed with autumn sunshine. They talked or just stood around taking in the view, caught up in the ma.s.s of humanity.

I sat back in my chair and tried to compose myself. Her story had spooked me, I had to admit, and left me feeling paranoid. I was much more conscious of the people around me, those that appeared to be going somewhere and those wandering aimlessly. They were probably tourists, visitors to the capital enjoying a day of autumn sunshine. I watched them anyway. A fair-haired couple, she with coloured ribbons tangled in her hair and he with matted dreadlocks, wandered arm-in-arm past the tables. They didn't look very typical, but they could be Australian, or mad, or in love. They didn't look like a.s.sa.s.sins from another world - but what would an a.s.sa.s.sin look like? Slightly drunk or hung-over she'd said, so that only included about ten per cent of the population of central London. My scan of the crowds caught a young woman emerging from the coffee shop. She made her way down the steps carefully, her high heels precarious on the polished surface. She hooked her bag over her shoulder and strode out though the tables, heels clicking and glossy smile flashing as she negotiated her way past one of the staff clearing tables. I noticed the men behind her checking out the rear view as she pa.s.sed. She was quite something. Her coat was caught together with only one b.u.t.ton and fell over the flared skirt that stopped well short of her knees.

She walked right past me and I had to agree, the guys weren't wrong.

She stopped and looked over to Nelson's Column, then back up towards Leicester Square. Taking a piece of paper from her coat pocket, she consulted it. I tried to keep my eyes on the scattered wanderers around the square, but she was very distracting.

She turned to look back at where I was sat and said to me, "Is Leicester Square in that direction?" She pointed a finger towards Charing Cross. Her voice was deeper than I had expected, but it hit the right notes. She had a ma.s.s of tangled red curls framing her face. That colour couldn't be natural, could it?

"Excuse me?" she said again, speaking more slowly and distinctly. "Is Leicester Square-"

"In that direction? No. Sorry, I was miles away. That's so rude. Please forgive me." I realised I'd been staring, my manners coming to the rescue at last.

"I thought perhaps you hadn't heard me."

"No, it's OK. I was... Never mind. It's that way, I'm afraid." I pointed in the opposite direction, past the National Portrait Gallery.

She turned one way then the other. "Oh, I thought I knew where I was. Do you mind if I sit for a moment and get my bearings?"

"Well..." I looked around. There were plenty of free seats, but there was no sign of Blackbird returning yet. In fact, I wasn't even sure she was ever coming back. "Sure. Take a seat."

"Are you alone?" She stepped back to the table and turned a seat sideways to sit down, crossing her legs with a whisper of nylon and placing her bag on the table. "Yes. No," I added.

She smiled at my confusion, the same glossy smile she'd used before, the heart-stopping one.

"That is, I was with someone." Disappointment crossed her face. "An older friend I was having coffee with. She went to powder her nose." "Oh, well, if I am interrupting-"

"No, no, it's OK. She'll be a moment or two, I expect." Her perfect lips curved into happy acceptance and she dipped into her handbag, extracting a small mirror and a lipstick. She checked her make-up, which she must only have done moments before, because it was perfect. Nevertheless, she added a little more gloss to her lips then tucked the items back in her bag. "You must be local," she commented. "Sorry?"

"To know where everything is," she explained. Her eyes were green, but not the pond-weed green you sometimes see. This was the sort of sparkling green you find in emeralds. Was she wearing contact lenses? "Yes, well, not really," I replied, finding myself unable to frame a coherent sentence. "Do you live nearby?"

"It takes about forty-five minutes to travel back to my place from here, so not exactly nearby, no." "Do you live alone or with family?" she pressed gently, smoothing invisible flecks of dust from her skirt and showing off glossy nails.

This was closer to territory I wanted to avoid, no matter how distracting she appeared. Blackbird had said not to discuss my family with anyone, no matter how harmless. Was she some sort of spy? If so, I was betting I could run faster than she could in those heels. "I live alone," I admitted, avoiding mentioning my family. The safer option also happened to be the truth. "I have a flat."

"A flat? It must be nice having s.p.a.ce of your own and being able to live as you want, to do whatever takes your fancy." The breeze caught in the organized tangle of her hair, lifting it from her shoulders momentarily. She shifted her chair around so it faced me.

"Do you live with someone else, then?" I asked her. "Yes, my housemate. She is so untidy." She smiled again, lifting her chin and shaking her head, leaning forwards on the table. Her blouse was casually open at the neck and I could just see the hint of dark lingerie. "You would not believe it."

"I probably would. I'm not the tidiest person, I'm afraid."

She looked at me, making me feel as if I was being sized up for something. Maybe she was deciding how untidy I was.

"I can imagine," she said. "Clothes scattered everywhere. Very untidy." Her lips curved upwars slightly, amused.

Understand that I am not an unattractive man, but my ex-wife will explain at length, given barely half a chance, how unperceptive I can be around women. This, however, was definitely seduction. Her expression made it personal. It was not my clothes that were scattered untidily, but ours.

"You know, it would be lovely if someone who knew the area was prepared to guide me around. As someone who knows his way..."

The suggestion was an offer, and she was incredibly attractive. She watched me considering. The thing was, I wasn't even supposed to be here. I'd only come for coffee because of what had happened and now this woman was propositioning me when I should be going to work.

It really was the strangest morning.

"I'm really sorry," I told her reluctantly, "but I am waiting for my friend and then I have to get to the office."

She gave me that smile again, the one that made my trousers uncomfortably tight. "Well, Rabbit, if you are sure there's nothing you can be tempted with?" She coiled a twist of hair around a delicate finger. "I'm sorry, but I'm quite- What did you say?"

"I asked if there was nothing that could tempt you." She leaned forward over the table, displaying more than she had before, laying her hands flat on the table and meeting my gaze with those cool green eyes, levelly, calmly. "You called me Rabbit," I accused.

"Is that your name? How amusing." She smiled, looking away, but there was more to that smile than I had first thought. She was playing with me.

"What do you want?" I glanced sideways, reconsidering whether I could really outpace her.

"What do I want? Now that's a big question." She leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her tone. "I want you to believe me, Rabbit. I want you to understand that what you see is not what you get, not anymore, not now, not ever. I need you to understand that appearances - yours, mine, and theirs - can be very deceptive."

I struggled to unravel what she was saying, trying to make sense of the words emerging from those beautiful lips.

I looked back to the coffee shop to see if Blackbird was returning, but there was still no sign of her. Looking back at the young woman in front of me, I searched for something that would help me understand what was going on. I was beginning to feel as if I was standing on the edge of an invisible abyss.

Trying to keep my voice down, I asked, "Tell me who you are."

"Who do you think I am?" There was a mischievous curve to her lips.

"Did you meet Blackbird? Did she put you up to this?" "You're still not getting it, are you, Rabbit?"

"What don't I get, exactly? Who are you?" I was preparing to run for it, readying myself to get away from the wrongness of it all.

"I told you," she said quietly. "You know who I am, but you don't want to accept it. You know who you are, but you don't want to accept that either. You keep denying the existence of anything that doesn't fit within your cosy little world-view."

"Blackbird... But... If you're Blackbird, how come you're wearing the body of this young woman?" "How dare you!"

For a second, I thought she was going to slap me, her words ringing out across the tables, attracting more attention than I thought we wanted. "How dare you suggest I would do such a thing?" She sat back and moved her chair sideways again, cheeks flushed, her breathing harsh as she controlled her anger. I was distracted by sn.i.g.g.e.ring from the group of guys near the door and my cheeks flushed in response. They obviously thought I'd suggested something quite different. I gave them a dirty look and they made a minimal effort to compose themselves. We were making quite an impression. I turned back to Blackbird, or at least I was beginning to think it was Blackbird, and found her grim and unhelpful.

"Look, just tell me. Are you Blackbird or not? You still haven't answered me."

"Of course I'm Blackbird. How obvious do I have to be?" She sounded petulant, sulky even.

"More obvious than you are being, plainly." She cast me a disdainful look.

Exasperated, I kept my voice low to avoid being overheard. "OK, so I accept that you're Blackbird, but looking like someone much younger. What was I supposed to think? You've just gone to a lot of trouble to explain how the body-s.n.a.t.c.hing thing works, after a close personal experience on my part, I might add, then you turn up looking like..."

"Like what?" She softened, her mood brightening like the clouds moving off the sun.

"Like a high..." her expression shadowed, "maintenance, fashionable... girl, out for a day's sightseeing." I adapted my words in a feat of mental juggling I hadn't realised I had the skill for. This was like walking a verbal tightrope. "Do you not like it?"

It was the same question as "Does this make me look fat?" and I had never mastered that one.

"It's maybe a little overdone, isn't it, for someone your age?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I'd said the wrong thing. So much for verbal juggling. "My age? And what exactly is my age, Rabbit?"

"I'm sorry, I just meant you look a lot younger than... before." I tailed off. I looked back over to the coffee shop, still hoping that Blackbird would be coming down the steps, exposing whoever was sitting opposite me as an impostor.

"Well?" She had me skewered on the question.

"About fifty-five or maybe sixty?" I really couldn't win at this.

I was surprised when she burst out laughing.

"Bless you, Rabbit. I am far older than that." She flashed that heart-stopping smile at me again and I shifted uncomfortably. My heart had stopped enough for one day.

I turned back to her. "Can't you change back or something?" I was disconcerted, both by the knowledge that Blackbird didn't look the way she should and also by the fact that I had been considering letting her seduce me. The idea of spending intimate time with someone more than twenty years my senior was disconcerting.

"You don't like me this way?" She was about to sulk again.

"No, in fact it's quite the opposite, it's very distracting."

"Are you sure you would not like a little distraction, just for a while?" She twisted the curl around her finger, smiling wistfully.

"Look! I really can't deal with this teasing. I'm not in the mood."

"You were in the mood earlier."

I dropped my voice back down to a reasonable level, having suddenly become aware that I had raised it. "Would you kindly change back to the way you were so we can continue this discussion in a civilised manner?" "All right." She collected her bag from the table and stood up, stepping around the table and leaned down to whisper close to my ear. "Give me a moment. I have to slip into something a little more comfortable. For you, that is."

She turned and walked back towards the coffee shop, skirt swinging with her walk, legs long and ankles slim, heels clicking on the hard paving. As she approached the gla.s.s door, one of the guys at the table nearby got up to open it for her. She smiled, exchanging small words of thanks and entered, lost behind the reflection of the gla.s.s. The guy went back to his mates and there was a degree of ribald teasing as he joined them. If only they knew.

He didn't sit down again, but they stood up around him, gathering their things together and ribbing one another as they moved past the table where I sat. "You've got your hands full there, mate," said one as he pa.s.sed, grinning.

"Wish I had," remarked the one who'd opened the door.

"In your dreams." The last one pa.s.sed me, addressing his comment to his friend's back.

I watched them go, as they nudged and jostled each other, laughing. I had never had friends like that, never felt comfortable or at ease in the shifting rivalry of peer groups. My early managers had said I was not a team player, but I had made a career out of playing with teams. My ability to see through the mire of conflicting information, to focus effort on the elements that represented paydirt, had made me successful. I was well-off, if not actually rich, and while I was sure it wasn't just wealth and status that had attracted my ex-wife, I knew it had played its part. What I had perhaps been slow to understand was that being successful couldn't sustain a relationship. My success had given me power and influence, but marriages weren't built on power, they were built on trust. And power trusted no one.

Still, I had my daughter. She was power incarnate as far as I was concerned. I was coiled around her little finger and she knew it. Unfortunately, my ex-wife knew it too and it was a constant source of friction between us. "What on earth possessed you to buy her those?" she'd demanded, when we returned from one of our weekend jaunts with her showing off sequinned hipster jeans with laces down the front.

"It was what she wanted," I would always say, which would spark the age-old row about the difference between what she wanted and what she needed. In my view, what she needed was at least one parent who would occasionally give her what she wanted. The problem was it was never my ex. She always ended up fulfilling needs, not wants.

It wasn't fair, but then none of it was. My ex-wife played single parent while I played absent father, roles neither of us wanted.